Rescue
by Joy Booth
Summary: Another wrestling match doesn't end as well...
1. Preface

Preface

He knew that she was going to break his heart the day he slid the ring on her finger. He thought that it would be at the end of that first mission when he went back behind the Iron Curtain and she stayed in the west with the cocky American. Then he was recruited for UNCLE and they became partners.

Good partnerships are hard enough to cultivate between three people of immensely different backgrounds. There was no time for romance when one wrong move could cost the lives of thousands. The tension between them rippled into a tangible ache that was always in the back of his mind. He could see it in her too. The way her eyes would soften when he started to have one of his episodes. She would almost reach to touch him, but at the last minute avoid contact. The lines had to hold.

Months went by as the saved the world each week sometimes twice before Thursday. He liked to think that they were friends. They spent time together that was not strictly case related. She told him about her childhood, and he told her what he could of his. Solo was usually there too, though she almost always placed herself closer to the Russian than the American.

He taught her how to fight, how to throw knives, how to injure someone from a distance, as her size would always be a problem in a hand to hand fight. Solo took her shooting. She hated it. As luck would have it though, the skill came in handy a week later when she had to return fire on an particularly angry Somalian arms dealer. She was still shaking when Illya got to her, taking the gun she was still holding over the unmoving man with three bullets in his she got back to the hotel that night, she finished an entire bottle of vodka before having to yet again be carried to bed.

The next morning she woke up to a glass of water and two aspirin on her night stand. She knew who left them there. It was the same man that made sure there was a hot pot of coffee ready when she woke up every morning. It was the man that taught her how to break out of almost any hold. The man who gave her a bugged engagement ring, a bugged pair of earrings and a bracelet with two way communication.

Some people wouldn't appreciate all he did for her, but she did. That was why she always made a point of gently cleaning his wounds when he was hurt. She always made sure to wear one of his gifts, because she knew he worried when she didn't. She always woke him when he was having a nightmare. He never wanted to talk, but she would make him a cup of tea with black cherries and sit with him until his hands stopped twitching.

If they had kept their distance, they might have kept the status quo for years, but that wasn't in the cards for them. He knew she was going to break his heart the day he slid the ring on her finger.


	2. The night in question

Chapter 1 – The night in Question

The night is question was really rather subdued in the grad scheme of things. Nothing was blown up. No one was shot or had to shoot anyone. They didn't even leave the hotel room. Maybe that was the problem. They got a little too comfortable with the domesticity of their partnership.

Illya ordered dinner, a steak for Gaby and roast chicken for himself.. Gaby fixed them each a drink, a tall gin and tonic minus the tonic for her, a cup of tea for him. He played chess. She sat on the couch, fiddled with some parts for a new listening device, danced around the room and when she got bored with all of that, turned her attention to her partner.

"Illya," she called as she passed behind his chair, reaching her hand out to ghost over the back of his neck. She knew that not touching him was almost more irritating to him than actually grazing his skin. He merely raised a brow and made the smallest noise of acknowledgment.

"I'm bored," she groaned.

"Do you want me to help you with the listening device?" he asked.

"I know what's wrong, but I need some copper wire to fix it and the shop will be closed by now," she sighed, flopping onto the couch beside him.

"Would you like to practice your Russian?" He asked, his eyes still on the board in front of him.

"Net, ya dumayu, chto u menya yest' eto vniz dovol'no khorosho , mister instruktor."

"Takim obrazom, vy sdelat'."

"What shall we do then?"

"I think I will go to bed," Illya started to stand up, but she grabbed his arm.

"I'm to restless to sleep, Illya. Won't you dance with me?" she asked, blinking up at him with those eyes he couldn't resist.

"You know I don't dance, Malyutka."

She just kept looking at him though, swinging their joined hands.

"Do you want to wrestle?" he asked nervously. She grinned at him, but before he could even think of how to begin, she had tackled him to the couch. "Wait, Wait, Waverly said the next time we damage furniture, we must pay."

She chewed her lip for a moment, before climbing off of him and beginning to move the furniture to the edges of the room. He followed suit, sliding the couch to the opposite wall. He had just put the last table next to the couch when he never toppled over as she landed on his back.

"I do not even get a warning," he teased pulling her around so they were face to face.

"Where is the fun in that?" she laughed, dropping her feet and breaking away before he could trap her in his arms.

Illya was a defensive fighter. He had no desire to hurt her, the goal was merely to catch her. He waited to react to whatever attack she would launch.

Gaby's advantage was her speed and flexibility. She was almost impossible to catch for long. Like water slipping through his fingers.

They went on for nearly an hour. He would think he had her, and the next moment she would be across the room preparing to run at him again. The last time, she didn't immediately try to escape. He had her pinned under him with her arms above her head. She was panting, but a grin danced across her lips.

"Are you prepared for surrender?" he asked.

"I will absolutely accept your surrender," she said, purposefully misunderstanding him.

"But it is I who have you trapped. Why would I surrender?"

"Because if you don't, I will kiss you," she replied, her eyes darting to his lips as she licked her own.

"You are making not giving up look very tempting," he said as he leaned in. She met his lips, and it was everything she expected. He was strong yet gentle. The weight of his body was almost crushing and yet she felt comforted instead of suffocated. His hands, while still cold, felt perfect on her over-heated skin.

What little clothes they had been wearing, were quickly removed and just when she thought he would finally give her what she had wanted since Rome, he pulled away.

"Rug burns," he said by way of explanation before pick her up and carrying her to bed.

She couldn't remember falling asleep, but when she woke up, there was 250 lbs of naked Russian on top of her and a pleasant ache she hadn't felt in a long time. She tried to get up, but his dead weight was too much.

"Illya," she called, dragging her fingers over his cheek which had been pressed into her neck. "Illya, I need to get up." She tried again, this time her hand found his ribs and gave a gentle shove.

"Son, lyubov'" he mumbled before rolling off of her.

After the using the bathroom, she went to the living room. The furniture was still against the walls, but in the early morning light, her stomach dropped. There was a reason they had never done this before, a good one. It wasn't just that it was a against policy.

He was loyal to his first love, Mother Russia. As a member of the German resistance and a British spy, she would never be welcome in his world, and he would never be happy in hers. The feelings that they had for each other were not enough to change the world.

She got dressed quickly, and snuck out. She wasn't ready to deal with the fallout yet. They were supposed to be doing recon on a corrupt ambassador, so she headed to her new job at the embassy.

Translations

Net, ya dumayu, chto u menya yest' eto vniz dovol'no khorosho , mister instruktor. = No, I think I have it down pretty well, Mr. instructor.

Takim obrazom, vy sdelat' = So you do

Malyutka = Little one

Son, lyubov' = Sleep, love


	3. The morning after

Illya woke up with as a chill ran up his spine. He was immediately alert. Someone was in the living room. Someone who was not Gaby. He reached across the bed but it was cool where she had slept. Maybe she had left early for her assignment at the embassy.

He threw on minimal clothes, with his gun in one hand. The sound of a paper being read rather casually gave him a clue as to who was on the other side of the door, but it didn't reassure him at all.

"Good morning, Oleg," Illya said cautiously as he entered the room, gun still in hand.

Oleg sniffed derisively, "Vy tratite slishkom mnogo vremeni s tekh zapadnykh sviney." (You are spending too much time with those western pigs.)

"You have me this assignment with UNCLE, and I am still undercover, if you haven't blow it by coming in here."

"Well, given what you have been doing in your spare time, I have a new assignment for you. I am sending Kalasknik to take over for you here. I should have know you would be a traitor, give your father's treachery."

"Kalashnik is a brute! He could not possible take over for me," Illya protested, ignoring the twitch of his hands that mention of his father brought out.

"Do not worry. I have given Kalashnik specific instructions for how to take care of your beautiful partner," Oleg said with a dangerous grin.

Illya's skin was crawling. He knew that Oleg was trying to provoke him. Striking a superior officer would get you killed. He had to remain calm, for Gaby's sake. Any preference he showed her would make her more of a target. They would use her against him in a heartbeat. If he left quietly, maybe Oleg would let him come back after he finished whatever they wanted him to do.

"Let me gather my things," he said tightly.

"Make sure you get all of your things. After your dalliance with Ms. Teller, you won't be back."

"I was maintaining my cover," Illya growled.

"Then you should have no problem cutting all ties," Oleg shrugged, before opening his paper again.

As Illya walked back into the other room, he wondered if he hand missed one of their listening devices, if someone had been sent to watch him, or if Oleg had just arrived at the perfect time to ruin everything. He gathered his things quickly, adding one of her scarves by 'accident'. When he was sure he had everything he stopped to look at the room one last time. The closet looked sad with half the hangers empty. Writing a note was impossible because someone else might read it. Finally he looked at his watch, his father's watch, the one Napoleon had found for him. With a sign, he slipped it from his wrist and into the pocket of her favorite pajamas.

Without another word, he followed Oleg out the door and back behind the iron curtain.


	4. Discovery

Gaby walked into a quiet hotel suite. That was not particularly unusual, but the fact there was no room service cart or large Russian in the main room. She shrugged it off, maybe he was out on recon.

When she walked into bedroom though, she knew something was horribly wrong. The closet door was still open and hangers were jarringly empty. The bed had been made by the maids, but there was no sign of Illya anywhere. She walked back out into the main room and picked up the phone.

"Agent Kuryakin has been called back to Russia," Waverly said before she could even ask the question. Her brain sputter, a million more questions passed through her mind, but she couldn't even grasp one.

"I see," she finally said.

"The Russian's are sending in a replacement, but Gaby be careful. I don't know much about this new agent, but what I know isn't good. As soon as you get any intel that we can use against him, let me know. Until then, stay close to Solo."

"I can take care of myself," Gaby snapped, offended by the idea that she would need Napoleon's protection.

"Gaby, I'm serious. Kalashnikov is not someone to turn your back on," Waverly warned.

Gaby thought about the day she and Illya had gotten engaged, well fake engaged. She had been so scared of him when he walked into that boutique. She would never have admitted it, but her body language sold her secrets. She had immediately stepped closer to Napoleon.

Now the idea of hiding behind the American was almost unthinkable. Oh what a difference a few months makes. Still, she would heed Waverly's warning. Just because Illya had turned out to be okay, didn't mean this new agent would.

"I'll be carefully," she promised.

"Maintain your cover as long as you can, we still need that information from the Ambassador."

The line went dead and she slumped onto the couch. Her eyes reassessed the room. Not one thing was out of place, but it felt wrong without Illya's chessboard on the coffee table, his book on the night stand, and his duffle bag of supplies under the desk.

She wondered if it was her. Had he asked to be reassigned? Had she read too much into their relationship? Maybe to him it was a cover, a way to keep her close. Maybe they shouldn't have crossed that line. Or maybe Her leaving without a word had hurt him. She always pushed people away. Should she have left a note? Would it have mattered?

Her chest hurt, but she wouldn't allow herself to cry. Crying was a weakness she couldn't afford. Crying left evidence. Instead she stood up and mixed herself a drink, or rather poured herself three fingers of bourbon and downed it in a gulp.

"Rough day at the office?" Solo asked as he strolled into the room.

"I broke a nail," she said flatly.

"And Russian friend isn't here to kiss it and make it better?" he teased looking around.

"He left…" she said without a trace of emotion.

Solo looked confused.

"The country. He left the country, apparently UNCLE wasn't for him anymore. We are

expecting his replacement anytime, Agent Kalashnikov."

Solo froze. "Kalashnikov? They are sending Kalashnikov? Waverly is letting them?"

"So you've heard of him?" she asked slipping another 3 fingered glass and handing him one of his own.

"He is a legend, makes our Peril look like a teddy bear. They call him the Red Flood, because he leaves behind in a river of blood."

Gaby felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Maybe she had been too quick to brush off Waverly's warnings. As she took another sip of her drink, there was a knock at the door. Napoleon stepped in front of her.

"Come in," he said firmly.

The door opened and an average sized, average looking Russian soldier stepped in. Gaby wasn't fooled though, Illya had taught her how to notice hidden weapons. This man was packing more than a mule. She stayed behind Napoleon as he exchanged the briefest greeting with Kalashnikov in his native tongue. A few more exchanges and the man left the room. Her Russian was good enough that she could have joined them, but she didn't.

"I hope you didn't mind me taking the lead with him, and changing the set up of the mission," Napoleon said once the door was shut.

"I think people would have noticed if my 'husband' shrunk eight inches and changed his hair color," she replied, instead of saying she was glad he had taking the lead. The minute Kalashnikov had stepped into the room, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Waverly was right, something was very wrong.


	5. You can't go home again

When Illya stepped off the plane he expected to feel at home, but instead he felt more on edge than ever. The Agents that picked them up didn't make eye cantact. Oleg was quiet, which was out of character. Like a good spy though, Illya kept quiet, kept watching, looking for whatever danger was coming next.

They were headed away from the heart of town, not a good sign. The familiar surroundings seemed darker and more bleak after his experience with UNCLE. As they pulled into the train station, Illya thought that they should have brought more agents. If they thought he would go quietly to rot with his father, they were very wrong.

"Your train leaves in five minutes," Oleg said, without looking at him.

"And you think I will go?"

"You will go one way or another. Aksakov and Yanukovich are here to make sure of it."

Aksakov and Yanukovich were the best snipers he had trained with. He looked at the roof. Sure enough there was the glint of a barrel, flashing in the sun.

"Am I to be thrown away?"

"You will work with your father for a period of one month. If in that time I feel you have made up for your lack of loyalty, you will both be returned to your former lives. If I feel you have learned nothing, you will both be killed," Oleg answered, in a bored tone.

This was the chance he had been waiting for his whole life. He was sure Oleg was manipulating him, but he couldn't give up this chance. He would see his father again for the first time in years. He would finally be able to redeem him.

Without a word, Illya grabbed his bag and got out of the car.

"Kuryakin?" Oleg called. Illya looked back wondering what more the man wanted. "Your gun? We can't very well have an armed prisoner now, can we?"

Illya fought disbelief as he pulled a gun from the holster at his back and another from his ankle, handing them over without a fight. He didn't need a weapon. They seemed to have forgotten he was a weapon. Still, the humiliation felt like a heavy weight around his neck.

He gave a sharp nod to the agents on the roof as he walked to the platform. There were no hard feelings. The agent that had driven walked two steps behind him. He could only guess how many guns were trained on him. Passengers scurried around, giving the agents a wide berth.

The whistle blew. The train clicked down the tracks. Illya plotted. By the time he got to Siberia he needed to have a plan, a good one.


	6. Discovery (part 2)

Gaby sat on the couch thinking for a long time. Napoleon had gone back to his room after Kalashnikov left. He reminded her that he was just a few doors down if she needed anything, but she assured him all she needed was a cold drink and a warm bed. Sadly, she knew her bed wouldn't be warm tonight, so she was relying heavily on the cold drinks, several of them.

Illya had left without a word, not even a note. She knew that he would leave her one day, but she thought they would have more time. The more she drank, the more it made sense. She wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn't. It felt like fate. Whenever she let someone get close, they left.

Her insomnia was back in full swing. Her eyes burned, begging for sleep, but her mind was replaying every moment they had spent together. Every whispered phrase in his native tongue, every touch, every time he stepped in front of a bullet for her. He had thrown a damn motorcycle like it was a matchbox car to save her. And what had she done? She had put him in danger. She made a hurtful comment without thinking. She pushed him away. She left that morning without even a kiss goodbye.

She didn't remember falling asleep. The empty bottle next to her and the headache throbbing in her temples was a pretty obvious clue that she had passed out at some point. She looked at the clock. She would have to be at work in an hour.

She rolled her shoulder and fought the urge to be sick. There was just enough time for a shower and a fresh outfit. Her day at the embassy was busy enough that she forgot about everything for a while. Nuclear warheads and uranium had a way of dwarfing personal problems.

Solo checked in on her, but she had a knack for hiding her feelings. He knew she wasn't sleeping. She couldn't hide was the increasing amount of makeup she had to use to cover the dark circles under her eyes or the way her coffee always smelled like whiskey. She was never late for work though, and her intel was impeccable, so he never reported it.

As for Kalashnikov, he was efficient. He showed up when he had an assignment. Other than that they never saw him. Gaby felt like she was being followed several times, but she could never prove it.

The night they had finally gotten enough evidence to prove the Ambassador was trying to purchase nuclear codes, Napoleon turned up at her door.

"Gaby, you need to sleep," he said pushing into the room without being invited. "I am going to run you a nice bath, make you a ancient Solo family insomnia cure and then you are going to put on your comfiest pajamas and get in that bed."

"Believe it or not, Solo. You are not god. I don't have to listen to you," she replied definitely.

"But you want to, I know you do. You are practically asleep on your feet right now. I haven't reported your behavior to Waverly yet, but I will him you don't get some sleep."

It wasn't a threat. Gaby knew that she couldn't keep going like this for long. If Napoleon got hurt because of her, she would never forgive herself.

"I can't sleep in that bed," she said quietly.

"Oh, dolly," Solo sighed, the pieces falling into place. "How long?"

"Just that last night. Do you think that's why?" she asked, wishing she didn't sound so broken. The lack of sleep was really starting to affect her.

"No, that can't be why. Kalashnikov let slip that Oleg had come to retrieve him. Something big is going on back in the mother land," Solo promised. "Come get in the bath and we will figure out the bed thing later."

Surprisingly, or then again perhaps it wasn't that surprising, Solo was a perfect gentleman. He ran her a bath with lavender oil and expensive salts before slipping out to give her some privacy. By the time she got out half an hour later, she was lucky to still be on her feet. She put on the fluffy hotel robe and walked into the bedroom. She had only been in the room a few seconds when she made an odd soundly sobbing gasp.

"Everything alright in there?" Solo asked.

More gasps answered him and he opened the door to find Gaby sitting on the floor clutching Illya's watch in her hands like it was a lifeline. At the sound of the door she looked up with pleading eyes.

"He… he must have… he's in trouble, I know it. Why didn't I look harder?"

"I'm not following?"

"It was tucked into my clothes. It's a sign. I should have looked harder, but I thought he just left. He left me a message and… oh god Napoleon, it's been a week! He could be dead by now!"

"Peril is a lot tougher than you are giving him credit for. Maybe it is just a promise that he is coming back?" Napoleon offered hopefully.

"No, I would have heard from him by now if that was the case. Something is wrong. I think Kalashnikov has been following me."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Solo snapped. Ha had been checking in with here twice as much since Illya had disappeared just in case something like this started happening.

"I can't prove it!" she yelled back, scrambling to her feet. "It's just feeling. I get a feeling when ever he is around, and I have been getting that same feeling everyday when I go to work, but I've never actually seen him."

"I could have checked it out. We are partners Gaby. How can I make sure you're safe if you don't tell me what's going on?"

Gaby looked down and twisted the watch band between her fingers. She didn't want to make a fuss. She was an MI5 agent for christ's sake, if it had been Solo who was being followed he would have dealt with it on his own. She didn't want to admit that she didn't know how to handle Kalashnikov on her own. Something about him made her skin crawl.

"Never mind," Napoleon sighed practically reading her mind. "Now that we know Illya is in trouble what do you think we should do?"

Gaby swallowed thickly, the plan that was coming together in her mind made her stomach turn and her heart ache. "I'm going to have to get close to Kalashnikov."

"Gaby, I don't think that's a good idea. After… I think Oleg probably wants him to keep his distance," Solo said, avoiding bringing up whatever had happened with their Russian.

"It's the only avenue we have to get information, unless you have some other connection to the KGB?" she asked hopefully.

Solo deflated. She was right. As much as he hated it, Kalashnikov was their best chance to get any information. And if they were going to save their friend, they would need all the help they could get.


	7. Papa Kuryakin

Illya had been on the train for days. He could have slipped away from his guards, jumped off the train, escaped, but all he could think about was seeing his father again. Well that, and Gaby, he wished he could be in two places at once, but he would have to depend on Waverly and Solo to protect her for now.

All the other passengers had disembarked at the last station, so he knew they were almost to their destination. No one spoke to him. He had been stuck in a cramped compartment for most of the journey. Every time he made a trip to the bathroom, he gathered things that could be useful. He was grateful to Solo for helping him perfect his lifting technique.

The guards never suspected a thing. He had a fresh pack of cigarettes, some food, a flash light, a small pocket knife, a flask of whiskey, some money, and snuff box. He wasn't sure if the items would be any help, but they would at least be good for trading with other prisoners He thought it was ironic that he was becoming a thief so that he could rescue his father from a prison he had gone to for being a thief.

As they walked into the camp, Illya felt sick. He had heard about the gulags of course, but nothing truly prepared a person for the stench of rotting death that emanated from the place. Even the guards took an involuntary pause at the gates. The guard in the tower shouted for them to keep moving. It was apparently a common reaction.

They hadn't put him in hand cuffs, so it almost looked like he was actually leading them through the camp, if you didn't notice that the two smaller men had guns trained on Illya's back. He looked out into the vast fields were the prisoners were working in the blazing sun.

He wondered if he would even recognize his father after all these years. His mother had hidden or destroyed any photos of the man after he was taken. What she hadn't gotten rid of, the government had taken. Even Illya's horse and his first edition copy of Treasure Island. The only thing Illya had been able to hold on to was his father's watch, and that was only because he had hidden it under a loose floorboard.

Now he had left the only thing that could prove his identity to his father half way around the world. Thoughts of the watch led to thoughts of Gaby once again. What was she doing? Was she safe? Had she found the watch? Had she understood what he was trying to say? He had no way of knowing, but he hoped some day he would be able to find out.

Before he would put one boot on the steps of the Wardens porch, the man himself came sauntering out.

"A new recruit, this is good. Winter is coming and the old ones are no longer worth feeding," the warden commented as if he were remarking on the weather. Illya suppressed a twitch. He had to be careful. Letting this man know his weaknesses would get him killed.

"Oleg sent your file Kuryakin. I recognize the name of course. What is it the American dogs say about apples and trees?" the warden continued, now obviously trying to provoke him. Illya would not be bated though. He stood at perfect attention waiting for orders.

"I see you still have hope of life after this Kuryakin. Do not worry it will be gone soon," the warden laughed humorlessly. "You may escort him to building three and then return to the train," the Warden said to the guards.

The building were all numbered except the Warden's house. Illya had been able to pick it out because it was the only building with electric lines and looked pristine while the rest of the camp looked like it was held together with mud and a prayer. He put his bag in an empty foot locker and locked it with a combination lock Solo had give him. It was supposedly impossible to crack or cut.

The guards left, and a camp guard carrying a machine gun turned up with a jump suit for him. He changed and was marched out to the fields. The men were weeding and Illya put his head down and got to work, keeping a watchful eye out for any clue as to his father's location.

He worked in the fields until long after the sun had gone down. Everyone else worked without question, so he followed suit. The first rule of being undercover was to follow everyone else. He listened, watched and kept his head down. Finally a whistle blew and the men around him stood and marched back to main camp. A man stood by a large stew pot handing out broth. Each man was given a bowl and they sipped them hungrily it was probably their second meal of the day.

Illya sipped his broth like everyone else, though it tasted like spoiled meat. If it was the only meal they would get, he would have to eat it. Keeping his strength was one of the most important parts of his plan. When he was finished, he put his bowl in the stack with the rest of the men and headed for building three.

He was almost there when someone grabbed him and dragged him into an alley between buildings.

"Are you Illya Kuryakin?" the younger man asked. The man had dark hair and eyes as black as night. He was only about fiive foot eight, but well muscled meaning he hadn't been in the camp long.

"Who wants to know?" Illya snapped back. He knew he could break the mans neck in a few seconds, but he didn't want to cause a scene on his first day.

"Answer the question!" the man insisted, looking over his shoulder nervously.

Illya narrowed his eyes and tried to remember if he had sent anyone to the gulags recently. If someone was looking for revenge, he was in trouble.

"Who wants to know?" Illya asked again dangerously, taking a step toward the man, as the red haze started to cloud his vision.

The little man's started to panic.

"Enough!" came a gravely voice from the darkness. Illya grabbed the little man by the throat and flip around to using him as a human shield.

"Illya, release him," the voice demanded, as an older man walked into the dim light. The new man was about the same height as Illya if not a little shorter. He was skinny, his cheeks gaunt with malnourishment, but he still stood with perfect posture. His hair was mostly gray, but there was still bits that were sandy blonde. His eyes were as blue as the Adriatic Sea. It had to be him.

Illya's grip loosened but other than that he didn't move.

"Daniil was following orders, son. Release him, he meant you no harm," Ahab Kuryakin said again. This time Illya did as he was told, pushing the little man away from him.

"Father," He said conversationally, as if it hadn't been 20 years since the last time they saw each other.

"Son," the old man returned. "Let us go for a walk. Daniil will keep the dogs off."

Illya wasn't sure if it was a metaphor or not, but he followed his father into the darkness. They walked for some time, until they were deep in the woods on the far side of the camp. There, they came to a small meadow where several large trees lay on the ground like benches. There was a small fire in the center of the benches and several men sat warming themselves.

"I had hoped that you had escaped," Ahab sighed as he sat down. "Oleg has made a point of telling me your bigger exploits. I had hoped when you started up with the German and the American that you would finally wise up and get away from them."

Illya's hands clenched at the mention of the German, but he said nothing.

"They are using you son. You know that, right?"

Illya gave a stiff nod.

"Then why have you come back?"

"To save you," Illya said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

His father laughed. He actually had the nerve to laugh. "Oh my boy, you were always such an idealist. I have missed you."

"I do not understand."

"I did what they accused me of. I am guilty, but I have found new purpose here. The government, they tell us that they are communists, that they want what is best for the people, but then they use the people. They get rich on the backs of hard workers like these men. In my time here, I have learned the error of my ways. I have come to love these men. It is my duty to protect them."

"So, you do not want to be rescued?"

"No, my son, but it is good to see you, though I do wish it was under better circumstances."

"But how did you know it was me?" Illya asked.

"Oleg has sent others pretending to be you. He hoped I would tell them the secret of how I have survived so long, when others died in their first winter. I knew it was you, because you were smart. You kept your head down. You watched, but didn't draw attention to yourself. And of course you have a scar on your neck from the time you fell out of the cherry tree and broke your collar bone when you were five."

Illya smiled reflexively. His father knew him even after all this time.

"Now, my son, we must figure out how to get you back to your Miss Teller," his fathered grinned. "Otherwise I will never give your mother those grandchildren I promised."

Illya blinked and looked very shocked.

"You think you are the only spy in the family," his father laughed again and for the first time in weeks, Illya like everything might actually work out.


	8. Recon

The next mission sent the team to Egypt. Rebels were organizing a coup against their oppressive government. Some how the rebels were buying military grade weapons from a disgruntled ex-FBI agent. Solo was ready with a plan to force Kalashnikov to partner with Gaby.

They would be going in as a rouge KGB agent and his wife looking to sell weapons brought with them from mother Russia to finance their new life. They were hoping to find out not only the name of the former FBI agent but also the leader of the rebels.

Unfortunately, Gaby wasn't making any head way with the Russian operative. He only spoke when it was absolutely necessary. After an entire day of tense silences, they were on their way to a romantic dinner in the restaurant owned by one of the rebels.

She took a page from Illya's book.

"It is better for the mission if we get to know each other a little more intimately," she purred seductively.

"No," Kalashnikov barked, scanning the room for their target.

"No one will believe we are man and wife if you don't even look at me," she insisted.

"A true Russian does not need all the deception and make believe. I will get the information one way or another," his tone left no question what he meant.

She tensed at the slight, but she couldn't let it show. She had to make it sound like idle curiosity. "So, is that why Kuryakin was called back to the Kremlin?"

Kalashnikov actually laughed. "He is not on his way to the Kremlin."

"Oh, he was sent on another mission?" she asked.

"No, he is probably dead by now, so there is no need for secrecy. He was sent to the gulags because of your little tryst."

She swallowed thickly. She thought that he was in trouble, but this heartless confirmation was more difficult than she imagined. She had see images of the gulags back in Germany. It was always a threat the Russian could hold over them to make them behave. Imagining Illya in one of those horrible places… beaten, starved, freezing on icy tundra…. She had to block out the thoughts.

"Who knew the Kremlin would get so mad about a little stress relief?" she mumbled, trying to lighten the mood and downplay her interest in the subject.

"I will not be so easily drawn in by your allurements, Miss Teller. If you continue to be a problem, I have authorization to eliminate you," he said quietly. "Now, if you have now other distractions I would like to get back to the assignment."

She had to sit through an entire silent dinner with him before they returned the hotel. She couldn't even slip away then, she had to wait until late enough for her to go down to the hotel bar. Of course, Solo was waiting for her.

"It's worse than we thought," she whispered slipping into a chair that was not directly next to him and ordering a drink. "Illya has been sent to the gulags… because of me…. Because of what we did."

"We will find him," Solo said firmly.

"Kalashnikov says he is dead."

"What does he know?" the American quipped.

"What does a Russian operative know about the Russian justice system? I would say a lot."

"So does our Peril, Dolly. You know what he is capable of. Why are you doubting him now?"

Gaby chewed on her straw and swept the room with her eyes. "… I don't know why…call it a feeling," she mumbled into her glass. "a very bad feeling."

Napoleon nodded almost imperceptibly. If he was being honest, he agreed. Something was wrong, and he was going to find out what.


	9. Day Turns to Endless Night

Illya had a lot to think about when he returned to his bunk that night, but the moment his head hit the hard plank bunk he was asleep. A day of hard labor was exhausting. His stomach woke him early the next morning, but he chose to save the small amount of rations he had brought. He would need them later if he was going to escape.

As he lay there trying to go back to sleep, the other men started to get up. Apparently, the day started before the sun came up. His eyes moved reflexively to his wrist to check the time, but then he remembered.

It brought a smile to his face. She was out there. She knew he would come back to her. Now he just had to keep the promise that the watch represented.

He followed the men to the field. He was lucky to have a good pair of work boots on. Some of the other men weren't as lucky. In the darkness, the cold crept in. the fields were wet from a nights rain. Wet feet meant sickness. Sickness in these conditions was a death sentence.

He helped others when he could, but he still tried not to draw notice from the guards. The sun was high in the sky when the warden came ambling through the fields. Grown men cowered in fear as he walked by.

He was almost to Illya when a man who was little more than skin and bones fell in his path. The warden kicked the man out of the way and spat on him. Illya felt his hands clench in rage. He couldn't afford to react. He had to keep a hold of his temper.

The warden's gritted his teeth. He needed Illya to crack. He needed to break him as soon as possible. Not on,y would that keep illya in line, but it would also be leverage against his father. He kicked a few more men as he made his way toward the young agent.

"Kuryakin, you missed curfew last night. The man work next to you reported that you were not in your bunk. Give him twenty lashings for being a traitor," the warden commanded handing him a whip. Behind the warden there were four armed guards with their guns trained on is head.

"No," Illya replied refusing the proffered weapon.

The warden grinned. "Give him his punishment, or you will receive it tenfold."

Illya stood defiantly.

"Volkov, give our new guest 200 lashings," the warden said, handing the whip to one of the guards.

Illya stood for the first fifty. He had been stabbed, shot, and tortured before so pain was an old friend, but as blood loss got to him, his body woke up to immense pain. Daniil was cleaning his wounds. He knew better than to scream. The familiar taste of cooper and smell of blood overwhelmed his senses.

Finally Daniil seemed to realize he was conscious. "The whole camp is talking about what you did. It was incredible. Why didn't you just do as you were told? Solkov will not last much longer anyway."

"Solkov?" Illya asked still a little hazy.

"The man you spared'" Daniil explained.

"I am not a murderer."

"Of course not, but…" Daniil stumbled over what to say.

"But what is one life when his pain could have spared mine?"

Daniil nodded.

"The warden wants to break me. I saw it in his eyes. I have had the same look many times. I will not let him use others, when he really wishes to hurt me."

"You are a brave man. Your father is very proud."

"Where is he?" Illya asked, trying not to sound like a hurt little boy. He had thought of his father as he fell to the ground. He had thought the man would be there for him.

"Mr. Kuryakin is busy, he checked on you earlier, but you were still unconscious."

"I see."

"I have done what I can, but you must try not to move until the deepest wounds have a chance to heal a bit," Daniil said as he finished his work.

Illya gave only the slightest nod before retreating back into his mind. He replayed memories of Gaby until he fell asleep again. He wasn't sure how long he slept, but he was woken by some one giving him a gentle shake.

"It is time for work," the man said. Illya recognized him as the man from the field, Solkov. "You must get up, or they will come for you."

Illya gritted his teeth and stood. He started to stretch as was his normal morning routine, but the cuts on his back pulled and his arms dropped.

"I don't know why you spared me, but I will help you if I can," Solkov promised. They walked out of the barracks together. The warden was waiting outside.

"You will not be need in the fields today, Kuryakin," the warden announced. "We need to have a little talk."

Illya followed the warden to building in the back. Guards flanked them as he realized where they were headed, but if they thought he was afraid of a little torture, they would be disappointed.

After several hours, the warden left him for dead. He hadnt talked, but there was always tomorrow.


	10. Covert Ops

"I don't know, maybe he would help…" Napoleon offered, though even he wasn't sure.

"No, the more people we bring into this, the more likely we are to get caught. Waverly was the one who ordered me serve you up to Victoria on a silver platter. Illya told me how he found you. What you went through… We can't trust anyone else," Gaby insisted.

"I know, that just makes our mission tens times harder."

"I don't know. I have been thinking with all of the missions we worked in the last few months we are due for a vacation. What is the weather like in Alaska this time of year?"

"In July? I met a stewardess once who said it was actually beautiful in the summer," he teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Not now, Napoleon. Maybe we can track you down a stewardess once he get Illya back."

"Of course. I'll call Sanders, you call Waverly?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Within hours they had to round trip tickets to Alaska. Waverly didn't ask many questions, which led Gaby to believe that he knew exactly what they were up too. He mentioned that he was sending Kalashnikov to investigate missing uranium in Columbia, and that he hoped they would 'all' be back and ready to work soon. He also mentioned the name of a ship leaving for Russia the day after they arrived… As a point of interest. In case they wanted to explore the port and make sure safety protocol was being followed.

Napoleon's contacts had been able to track down the camp where Illya was being held. They could help them with foraged papers, but after that, Gaby and Napoleon were on their own. They spent their journey perfecting their covers. Solo, as he was fluent in Russian, would be business man from Kursk, looking for land to build a factory, and Gaby would be his German wife.

They were hoping that they hadn't tipped anyone off to their plan. Anonymity was the key to getting out alive. They would have to rescue Illya as soon as he went to bed. If they timed it just right, they could get back to the ship before anyone even knew he was missing.

They never discussed what would happen if they were caught or what to do if he refused to abandon his country. It simply wasn't an option. They had to get him out, and the rest would be figured out later.

The moment they stepped on Russia soil, Gaby started to twitch. Solo tried to keep his regular composure, but even he was nervous. They were on enemy soil without sanction, no country would claim them if things went south.

They rented a car and drove to the town closest to the camp. It had a newly developed industrial district, which they toured to keep up appearances. Gaby was glad Solo had agreed to come with her. She knew that his resources had been essential, not to mention he was a calming force when she felt like she was going to fall apart at any minute.

Night came all to soon. They didn't know what to expect as they approached the camp. The guard tower was given a wide berth as they made their through the darkness. As the made their way through the surrounding woods, a man came out of the darkness.

"You are come for Mr. Kuryakin?" The small man asked in broken english.

Solo and Gaby exchanged looks which asked if they should trust him.

"I am Daniil. I am helping you."

"Why?" Solo asked.

"I am owing Mr. Kuryakin my life."

They were both hesitant to trust the man, but what choice did they have. They followed him through the woods to a small camp fire. As they approached, a tall man with white hair and familiar eyes walked toward them.

"I knew you would come. I am Ahab Kuryakin. It is so nice to finally meet you, especially you, Ms. Teller," he said, as he shook their hands firmly.

"It is lovely to meet you as well," Gaby said slowly. Of all the things she had thought might happen, this was the farthest from her mind.

"Not time for niceties, I fear. My son does not have much time."

"What can we do?" Gaby asked.

"You have already done it, my dear. You are here and he will take him far away. Daniil take Mr. Solo to the camp," Ahab said. Daniil nodded and Solo started to follow him.

"I need to go," Gaby insisted.

"A woman in the camp would be very suspicious," Ahab pointed out, waving at the men to go.

Gaby's shoulders sank she had come all this way and she couldn't even be there to save him.

"Gaby, he would not want you to see him in that place. I know you wanted to save him, and you will. What he has been through in the last few days, will haunt him for the rest of his life. He will need you, and you will be there for him."

"But how do you know?" she asked.

"Because you are here for him now." They sat and talked while they waited for the men to return. It felt like a lifetime before shadow appeared in the distance. Gaby immediately noticed that Illya was being held up on both sides.

"How far way did you leave your transport?" Ahab asked.

"About a mile southeast," Gaby mumbled her eyes watching the shadows carefully.

"Remember to keep his wounds clean on the ship."

"Of course," she said as she walked toward them. Napoleon was a sickly shade of green, and even though they had changed his clothes, Illya still smelled like sweat, blood and other things she didn't want to think about. Unable to think of anything to say to the man she had come thousands of miles to rescue, she simple took Daniil's place at Illya's side. He leaned in to her, resting his head on hers and sniffed before mumbling something that sounded a lot like lyubov' moya.

His father whispered something in his ear, before turning to Gaby. "Remember what I told you and take care of my boy."

They moved quickly back to the car. They had quite a journey a head of them. As Solo speed through back roads, Gaby sat in the back seat with Illya's head in her lap. Every pot hole they hit caused him obvious pain, but he never cried out. She stroked his hair and whispered promises of hot showers and pain medicine. They would be home soon, and all of this would be nothing more than a bad memory.


	11. Morning Comes

For the third day in a row, he was being questioned. What were UNCLE's weaknesses? What were Solo's weaknesses? What were Gaby's weaknesses? Was he a traitor? What was their mission? Was he a double agent? So many questions, but all he knew was pain and darkness.

At night Daniil came to treat his wounds. His father came as often as he could. Ahab would speak of his time in the camp. Sometimes he would speak of the past, of when they were a family, but mostly he would speak about the future. He reminded Illya that Gaby was coming to take him home.

On the that third day they had shown him a picture of Gaby with Kalashnikov. They were in a car together and Gaby was leaning into him provocatively. They thought this would break him. They thought wrong. It only cemented her in his mind. Her image was like water given to a man dying of thirst. He could see in her eyes that she was playing a role. This was her undercover face. The face that was all bravado and sultry looks.

The real Gaby was soft eyes and tentative touches and whiskey and fire. His Gaby was up to something. His Gaby was on a mission, and he had yet to see her fail.

He remembered to look wounded none the less. He even gave them some meaningless intel. It was important for them to think they were making progress. A person who never broke, didn't live long, and Illlya knew he needed to live long enough to get out.

What he didn't know, was that his rescue was already underway. When he heard someone coming that night, he assumed it was his father coming to check in before bed. To his great surprise it was Solo's face that came into view.

"Ready to go Peril?" The man joked even as his face lost all color. Illya realized he must look worse than he thought.

"I never thought I would be so happy to see you, Cowboy."

"Lets get you into come clean clothes, and high tail it before Gaby decides to stop being patient," Solo said, helping the Russian to his feet.

"Gaby?"

"Yes, she is with your father in the woods. We convinced her that her presence would give us away, but I don't know how long that will last. She is strung tighter than a drum. If we don't hurry I am worried she might try storming the compound."

"But how?" Illya asked, as he slipped on a clean shirt for the first time in weeks. He was surprised to find it fit him perfectly.

"No time for stories now. Maybe once we are back on the ship."

They walked through the camp in silence. Illya was leaning on Napoleon and Daniil more than he would have liked, but all that was forgotten when he saw her face in the fire light. She slipped into the place where Daniil had been supporting him and his head dropped to her like it had magnetic force. She smelled like motor oil and vodka. He sighed, finally relaxing for the first time, it sounded a lot like my love.

His father said something he didn't catch to Gaby and then they were moving again. He wove in and out of consciousness as they drove through the night. It was nearly sunrise when they arrived in Uelen. The streets were unfamiliar, but he trusted his partners. They parked the car in the ship yard and headed for a freighter called the Serenity.

They were almost to the gangplank when a shot rang out. They dove for cover behind some shipping crates and Solo sprang to action.

"Stay with him Gaby. Get him on that ship, I will try to draw our shooter away. The boat leaves in 10 minutes, so just make sure he is on it, because the captain will not wait for anyone," Solo declared his eyes darting around to get the lay of the land.

"What about you?" Gaby asked, though she feared she already knew his answer.

"Leave without me if you have to, I always land on my feet," Solo said before running into the line of fire again. As the sound of gun shots moved away, she dragged Illya to his feet and made for a the ship.

"I knew you would be here, Kuryakin," came a voice which caused her to stop and turn. "Your father was a traitor and you are a traitor, just like your mother was a whore and your girlfriend is too."

"I would say it is nice to see you Kalashnikov, but I don't like to lie," Gaby snapped back trying to position herself between the two men. Illya was barely conscious, but she could feel him twitching behind her.

"That is not what you said last week, my little dove."

"If you fell for that, you are a bigger idiot than I thought."

"I fell for nothing. Why do you think I am here?"

"I think you're here to take a message back to Oleg."

"I am no message boy, and you two are not going anywhere," he said leaning in a bit too close, just as Gaby hoped he would. With lightning speed she drew a knife from her belt and slit his throat.

"That is quite a message," Illya mumbled behind her.

"Blood is the only thing these men understand, and I want them to know what happens when they hurt someone I love," she said, even as she feared she might be sick. There was no time though. They needed to get on that ship. Once they were on, she looked around the shipyard for Napoleon. She hoped to catch his eye, but he was nowhere in sight. A man named Jane was already beginning to take pull up the gangplack when Napoleon came running, jumped and walked onto the ship with a the grace of queen, then wiped a bit of blood from his jacket and frowned.

"I think that is going to stain," he sighed, and went below deck without another word.


	12. Tomorrow's another day

The world was moving in pitches and swells. Illya woke with a throbbing head. His stomach turned, but there was nothing to expel. He hadn't eaten in days. Never the less a bucket appeared in his periphery.

"It is going to be ok Peril. Just try to rest," Solo said quietly.

Illya's arm started to itch. He tried to scratch but something heavy was keeping his other arm pinned to the cot. .

"It's an IV. You needed fluids, and you aren't in any shape to drink them. Try to sleep, or at least be quiet, because this is the first time she has slept in days," Solo continued. It was then that Illya noticed a head of chestnut hair resting on his arm. He gave a nod and fell back into the land of nod, pulling her closer as he went.

The next time he woke up, they were barely moving. He blinked slowly, trying to get his vision to adjust to what little light was in the room. Some one was moving around, packing, or at least that was what it looked like. He would recognize her anywhere, but he did not draw her attention. Watching her work was enough to help him gather his strength. At last, he sat up.

"Do you need help?" he asked his voice as rough as sandpaper. She literally jumped away from him.

"Scheise, mein Gott!" she screeched, moving over to him. "You scarred the hell out of me."

"I am sorry," he answered. The last thing he ever wanted to go was scare her. She saw the hurt look in his eyes and revised herself.

"I meant you startled me. You could never scare me. I just didn't expect you to wake so soon. We just arrived in port, and Napoleon has gone to secure some sort of transport and…"

"You are trembling…"he said, taking her hands to still them.

"I am scared. I was so scared that you wouldn't wake up," she said collapsing into his arms. "I couldn't lose you too."

"It is alright. We are alright," he promised. She had finally started to calm, when the door opened.

"Peril, it's about time you stopped making us carry you everywhere," Solo teased as he looked around the room. "What happened to packing?"

"We are busy," Illya replied dryly.

"I can see that, but if we are going to get out of here before anyone notices a missing BMW we need to move."

In short order they were packed, and headed for Canada. Solo had new papers for all of them, including Canadian passports.

"These are not bad, Cowboy. How did you get them so quickly?" Illya asked.

"I already had them. I was saving them for a special occasion, and we still have a week of vacation time left, so I was thinking… some sight seeing in Ottawa. Their National Gallery just acquired a Warhol I would like to see. "

"Like to steal," Illya said, rolling his eyes.

Solo glared right back. "I've taken the liberty of booking us a few rooms at the Fairmont Chateau Laurier."

"Thank you, Napoleon," Gaby said, trying to convince Illya with her eyes to do the same.

"We still have many hours to drive. I think I will try to sleep," Illya said instead.

Gaby was behind the wheel when they finally arrived. She and Napoleon had been driving in shifts throughout the night. She woke the boys and went to the front desk to check in.

"Here are you keys Mrs. Darcy. I hope you and your husband enjoy your stay," The desk clerk said with a smile. They had found out when they looked at the passports that she and Illya would be Mr. and Mrs. Darcy while they were in Canada. Gaby was less that amused, but she was glad to know that she would be able to be there for Illya if he needed her.

When they got to their room, Gaby ordered room service. She had been surviving the last few days on rest stop pancakes. She and Illya were both ready for a real meal. Ten minutes later, Illya was in the shower when there was a knock at the door. She was impressed by the hotel's prompt service, until she opened the door to see Waverly.

"I thought we had another week," she said, confused by his presence.

"You did, that is until THURSH decided to steal a new experimental aircraft from the CIA."

"When do we leave?" she sighed.

"I've got some intel files for you to look over, but mostly I think you should rest tonight. There are mountains to move tomorrow," he said with a wink. "Oh, and tell Mr. Kuryakin we are glad to have him back."

The end...


End file.
